My New Muse (Mild Wattpad Version) (Completed) [SLOWLY BEING EDITED]

10. Morning After Blues

I wake up in the morning with a sore throat, and tear stains on my face.

I was crying in my sleep. Great.

What's even better is when I feel the two steel arms wrapped around my torso.

I open my mouth to ask him what the fuck he's doing in here, but he beats me to it .

"You were crying in your sleep — bawling, actually, screaming "Why, Amy?" You calmed down the moment I wrapped my arms around you."

I say nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because even though I was in a tremendous amount of emotional pain, I would really have preferred if he didn't comfort me; this is the kind of thing that causes strings to attach. I don't want him to build up this idea of me being this emotionally broken girl that he must always be there for, because truthfully, I'll never want to keep him around for that; I don't want a crutch.

"You know... It's okay to feel."

"I don't need to hear this bullshít." I hear this all the time, but I don't listen. Because if I do? If I allow myself to feel on a regular basis, and not just when shít like this triggers me — I'll go mad with grief.

"It's true."

I lie there and say nothing, afraid that I'll say the wrong thing.

"I have a little sister. She's seventeen now, her birthday just passed in October."

I look at the cieling, wondering why he's telling me this.

"She died two years ago, five days before her fifteenth birthday."

When he speaks again, his voice is thick, and cracks on the words "died," "five days," and "fifteenth birthday".

"You said something to me yesterday; something of interest ; you said "she is my best friend". Is. Present tense. So I know that like me, you don't remove titles from people once they die."

I'm looking at him now,  just staring at him, his eyes filled with unshed tears. I can't believe that he picked that up.

"You love the fùck out of her... yet you won't even let yourself properly grieve. You can't keep that in; I tried to do that with my sister. It nearly killed me."

It isn't the same, though. Too many people who I've loved dearly have died. My mother, Amy, and other shít that I just don't even want to think about right now.

Additionally, there's the anger  that I feel surrounding Amy's death; anger at myself for not stopping her, but more than anything, anger at her for making that decision that lead to her death.

He starts talking again.

"I hate when  people ask if I'm okay; obviously, I'm not okay. I will never be okay. My sister is everything to me, and therefore, I am reminded every day of the pain that I will have to endure for the rest of my life. I cry about it; all the goddamn time. But life goes on, and even though I will never be the same, I will never be okay, never know happiness the way I once did, I refuse to not grieve; she deserves for me to grieve over her; and I refuse to let it consume me, because the last thing she said to me was to make her proud; do whatever I think that she would be proud of."

Tears are running down his face now, and I use my thumb to wipe them away.

"What did she die from?"

He sniffles a bit, and then says, "Leukemia. She knew that she was going to die; she was hoping that, against the odds, she'd make it to her birthday."

I didn't expect that he'd be so forthcoming with his personal life.

Didn't expect that for once, I wasn't the only one feeling this kind of pain.

So I do what feels natural; I let some of the pain out.

It's a frightening feeling, grief. What I felt last night when I was thinking of Amy was nothing in comparison to what I'm feeling now.

It's as if your heart is being squeezed and pulled and broken over and over again, while your soul is being dragged across hot coals and battered and bruised and pushed far beyond the point of endurance.

And this isn't even the full extent of my grief; this is only my grief for Amy. I still have the pain for my other loved ones bottled up inside — and honestly, they might stay there for a really long time.

Like I said, if I allow myself to feel, I'll go mad with grief — and I already feel myself breaking, unravelling at the seams from letting my feelings for Amy out.

Under the "Ice Queen" façade, I'm a fùcked up emotional mess, and this is the real reason why I refuse to attach myself to anyone. I've dealt with enough death, enough loss for an infinite amount of lifetimes; I'm not interested in setting myself up for that kind of pain again.

It is with those thoughts that I hug David, then get up and leave him on the bed.

I then lock myself in the bathroom, and try to regain my composure — only to break down crying on the floor.